The Boy Who Lived
by Tchaicoughsky
Summary: What if the prophecy had a hidden meaning, one different from what we all assumed?


_(August 11, 2021, Harry is 41, Ginny is 40)_

We first noticed the day Ginny turned 40. We had sat in front of the mirror in our bathroom, staring at each other, comparing, contrasting. Ginny had apparently been testing the elasticity of her face, pulling at the skin around her eyes, opening her mouth and eyes as wide as possible, then scrunching up all her facial features in a rather impressive imitation of the neighbor's pug. Finally, satisfied that she was not the wrinkly old hag she had worried she was, she stopped. I, who did not care in the slightest what Ginny looked like, just sat back and watched with an amused expression on my face.

Minutes before, Ginny had found her first grey hair. And her second and third grey hairs. She had, upon discovering them, quickly yanked them out, shooting me, and my hair, a disdainful look. My mop of hair remained an even, jet black color, still as dark (and as messy) as the day Ginny and I met.

"Oh, c'mon Gin, don't look at me like that." I remember saying, noticing her glances. "I'm sure I've got loads of white hairs." I peered into the mirror, hands reaching up to sort through my dark locks, but we both knew I was just putting on a show to please my wife. We both knew I did not in fact have any grey, white or silver hairs on my head, nor would I ever.

Ginny sighed, pulling my hands away from my head. "It's fine, Harry, it's not a big deal. Worse things have happened. Now, let's go, before everyone starts to wonder what we're doing up here!" She giggled. "They might think you're a luckier man than you are." With a wink, she had then walked off, swaying her hips in a way that said 'I-know-you're-looking-at-my-arse,-you tosser'. I smiled, gave one last glance in the mirror, shrugged and ran after my wife to join the festivities below.

_(May 2025, Harry is 44, Ginny is 43)_

"Harry, m'dear boy!" Ginny and I had been walking hand-in-hand down Diagon Alley towards the joke shop and when we heard someone familiar call out my name and give an even more familiar jovial laugh, we stopped and turned to see Horace Slughorn, who was talking to us again, "You haven't aged a day since I last saw you." Slughorn, apparently unlike me, had aged quite a number of days. His voice was old, worn-out, and he looked, if it was even possible, a bit skinnier than he had in his Hogwarts days. Slughorn gave us a gigantic smile as he lumbered over to where we stood. "Conjuring up some ageless potions in your spare time, have you? I dare say, you could! Quite the potions master, when I taught you."

Slughorn clapped me on the back and turned towards Ginny. "Ah- Mrs. Potter, lovely as ever! By the way, congratulations on the Quiditch award! When I heard, I told everyone I knew, I said 'That Ginny Weasley, Potter now I suppose, was a right scary little thing when I taught her! Wouldn't want to get on her bad side, no-oh-ho, she was quick with that wand of hers and she'd make you sorry!' Told them all that it was I who introduced you to Gwenog Jones when you were still in school." He gave a small chuckle, hand on his slightly protruding belly and winked. Ginny and I grinned at each other. It appeared, even in his old age, Slughorn had been riding off the fame of others.

"Professor-"

"Horace, Harry, _please. _We've known each other long enough." He smiled and his eyes twinkled a bit. No, despite his appearances, Slughorn had not changed at all.

I grinned, and offered my hand to my old professor. "Horace, what a pleasant surprise. How've you been?"

Horace's smile faltered slightly. "Ah, Harry, m'dear boy, always the charmer. You don't want to hear about me. I'm an old wizard, my age is finally catching up with me, it seems. No, no. I won't bore you with the woes of an old man. How are you youngsters? And the kids? Wreaking havoc, top of the class, stars of the Quiditch team, I'm sure."

Horace winked. I glanced at Ginny, giving her a knowing smirk. Slughorn obviously hadn't known that two of our three kids had left Hogwarts already. "Pity, I'd have liked to have taught them, but- ah well." He grinned, and glanced at his watch. "Oh dear, is that the time? I really must be off!" He winked at us again, chortled and dashed off in the other direction.

"Bit of an odd one, isn't he?" I said, as we turned back and continued on walking. "Hasn't changed. Couldn't get a word in edgewise."

I laughed to myself, remembering my last year at Hogwarts with that particular professor. "D'you know? I reckon-"

"Harry- he's right, you know." Ginny's voice was quiet as she cut me off. I looked into her eyes, they were uneasy. She bit her lip and looked rather unsure of herself.

"Right about what?"

"You." Ginny said, almost immediately. She paused, taking a deep, shaky breath. "When was the last time you saw him? Your 30th birthday party, remember? We invited everyone we knew. That was almost 15 years ago. And, well, Harry. You _haven't _aged. You look the same as the day you turned 30."

"What are you talking about, Gin? Of course I've aged." I ran my hand through my jet black hair. "This is ridiculous. Nobody doesn't age, Gin. You're worrying about nothing."

"Yeah, well nobody bloody well survives the killing curse either." She said shrilly. "_Twice._" Ginny paused, her eyes becoming steely. "I _think _it's safe to say that the normal rules of life don't _exactly _apply to you, Harry Potter."

We stared at each other for a second, neither of us breaking eye contact. At some point we had dropped each other's hands; Ginny now had her arms folded across her chest, while I had one hand on the back of my neck and one shoved deep into my muggle jeans. Ginny bit her lip and suddenly looked nervous again. "Look, I wouldn't- I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't think it was important. I wouldn't be making such a big deal if I thought you just had a youthful face." She unfolded her arms, and reached one hand out to cover my hand on the back of my neck, locking our fingers together.

"I know. But listen, it's probably nothing." Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but I quickly spoke over her. "No, Gin, maybe you think I haven't aged, but I'm sure if you looked back at pictures, you would find I have." I grinned at her. "It's probably the baby fat I never lost." Ginny smiled despite herself and decided that I was right. It was probably nothing.

_(31__st__ July 2030, Harry's 50__th__ birthday, Ginny is 48, Hermione and Ron are 51, James II is 26, Albus Severus is 24, Lily Luna is 22)_

"Harry! Where are you guys?" Hermione's voice floated up from where she and Ron had probably just let themselves in downstairs. Ginny and I were upstairs, sitting in our bathroom, staring in the mirror. Ginny's hair had become speckled with grey hairs, many more than the first three we had found 9 years previously and mine, surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, I had been known to unconsciously change my hair) remained the color of soot.

"I don't understand. I thought for sure, by now…" I ran a hand through my hair, glancing at Ginny. She picked up some of her red/grey locks and examined them self-consciously. My face softened. "You've aged beautifully, Gin." Wrong choice of words.

"And you haven't aged at all!" She dropped her hair and turned to look at me straight on. "You turn 50 today, Harry, and you don't look a day over 30."

"Gin-"

"No, Harry! I'm serious. This isn't some stupid 'I look old enough to be your mother' thing. You. have. not. aged. You look-" Ginny stopped herself, her eyes fixing on something behind Harry. "Oh hello, Hermione, Ron! We didn't hear you guys come in." Ginny got up and walked over to give our friends a hug.

I stayed seated for a couple seconds, thinking over Ginny's words. They worried me more than a little, but after a moment I got up, pushing it out of my mind for the time being. "Hey, Hermione!" I laughed, giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug, as though it hadn't been just 3 days ago that I had seen her at the weekly Weasley Sunday Supper. After I gave Ron a quick hug, Hermione turned to me and started talking.

"We came a bit early," she said in an apologetic tone, making it clear to both me and Ginny that they had heard the raised voices of a fight. "because we wanted to give you your present before everyone else got here. It's special." She smiled, pulling the present out from behind the bathroom door. "And this will give you a little bit of time to look at it, too." Hermione grabbed my arm and lead me into my bedroom, where she sat me down on the bed. Ginny sat down next to me and Ron walked up to Hermione, putting his arm around her. They both handed over the present with gigantic smiles on their faces.

"We both came up with the idea," Ron said, putting his left hand on the back of his neck sheepishly. "but Hermione was the one who put it all together. She's brilliant, d'you know that?"

Hermione smiled warmly at him, and then turned to look at me. "Go on, open it, I expect everyone else to be showing up soon. I'm honestly surprised Molly hasn't spent the last week here, prepping for the party."

I laughed knowingly and began to open their present. It was wrapped terribly (probably Ron's doing, I grinned to myself) but the present itself was magnificent. It was a moleskin scrapbook that looked thoroughly ordinary on the outside, but was filled with all of my fondest memories. I was taken by surprise just how much care they had put into the whole thing. It started with our first year at Hogwarts (Obviously. Fond was the word, wasn't it?) and it led all the way up to last Sunday, when Hermione had insisted on taking pictures of everyone together.

"This is… great, Hermione, Ron. Really, I… thank you." I didn't look up as I flipped through the book, looking at each photo, reading every inscription. Some of these photos I hadn't even known were taken, but I was glad they were. At one point, my eyes welled up with tears seeing photos of Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Dumbledore, everyone who had died during the war. I laughed at all the photos of Ron, Hermione and himself when they were younger, all the photos of Ginny (who was never known to take a serious picture) and myself and my kids. The whole thing left me with a warm, glow-y feeling. I know where my life could easily have gone had I not been a wizard, but I was so happy every day that my life had taken the path it had.

_(The next day. Everyone is one day older.)_

"Ginny, have you seen my coat? I can't find- what's wrong?" Ginny was sitting on our bed, going through the scrapbook Hermione and Ron had given us. She looked sad and shaken, much like she did right after the war ended.

Looking up, she stared into my eyes, giving off such an air of sorrow that I worried for a split second that I _had_ somehow walked back in time to just after the war ended. "Harry." Her voice was soft and morose. "Harry, you really aren't aging. You- you haven't aged. I… Harry." Tears rolled down her cheeks and she hung her head. Though being seriously confused as to why she was so upset, I crossed the room in 3 steps and sat down next to her, pulling her into a hug. Ginny let out a sob and cried even harder.

"Ginny, Ginny. Shhhh." I laid his head on top of hers as though trying to envelope her completely, to cover her, shield her from whatever was making her so sad. "It's okay, Ginny, it's-"

Ginny pulled away, looking, if possible, even sadder than before. "Harry, you don't understand. You- you're not aging." She took a shaky breath. "Harry, you're not dying." At this I became even more confused than before. Fresh tears rolled down Ginny's cheeks and she buried her face in her hands.

"Ginny, what do you mean?" She didn't respond. "Ginny?"

She looked up again and spoke something familiar I had not heard in years, something I had hoped to never hear again. "Either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives." Ginny placed both her hands on either side of my face, smoothing her thumbs over my cheeks. "Harry, I think... the prophecy said either must die at the hands of the other… and, well, what if that means…" Ginny grabbed the scrapbook from where it had fallen on the floor, quickly flipping to Harry's 30th birthday party. "Just look at the pictures, Harry. See for yourself! You're not aging."

I slowly took the book from her hands and did as she said, examining each picture taken after I turned 30, trying to find a difference, a wrinkle, a loss in elasticity of my skin, thinning hair, anything. I knew it was in vain, though. I knew what I was looking at; I knew what I would find. "What are you trying to say, Gin?"

Ginny was staring at her hands in her lap and she didn't look up when she started to speak. "We all thought that the prophecy meant that in the end, either you would have to kill Voldemort or he would have to kill you. …And it made sense why we thought that because the prophecy said that neither could live while the other survived." Ginny looked up and I nodded, motioning for her to continue. "But… what if that was only part of it?" She paused again, taking a deep breath. "What if it also meant that you two were the only way either of you could die? That to be killed by Voldemort was the only way you could die, and now that he's dead, you… can't die."

I shook his head, not wanting to believe it, I couldn't believe it. "Ginny, I… no, that's… no. I-"

"Think about it, Harry." Her voice shook. "You were the boy who possessed the power to vanquish the Dark Lord; he marked you as his equal." She touched my scar, gently pressed her fingers to my forehead. "We all knew that it had to be you, you were the only one who could kill him. And… why would it only be true then? Why would it only be Voldemort who had to die at your hands, when the prophecy clearly said…" She trailed off, biting back a sob.

"By killing Voldemort, you made the ultimate sacrifice. You gave up- you gave up…" Ginny was having difficulty holding back her tears now. "Your chance to die." She finished, quietly. "You're… immortal."

All I could do was sit there. It made sense, what Ginny was saying, it all made sense, and yet, it was so wrong. How could I not die? How could I live forever? I didn't want to live forever. Feeling something wet hit my lap, I realized that I was crying. I was so scared, so terrified. I had already lived 11 years of his life without the love of family and friends. How could I go back to that? How could I go back to that forever? I was sobbing unabashedly now, clutching at Ginny, hanging on to her, scared to let her go, scared of losing her.

Ginny was crying too, hugging me just as desperately. If she said anything, neither of us noticed. We were both were too scared of what the future held, of the death that was imminent for one of us, and the death that would never come for the other.

_(2051, Harry is 71 and Ginny is 70, Hermione and Ron are 72)_

We buried Arthur and Molly this morning. Molly had died last week, and Arthur, filled with grief and old age, had followed a few days later. Molly was 101 and Arthur 100. They lived long, full lives, filled with the joy and grief, beauty and fear, and most of all love. I was angry. I was angry that Arthur could follow his wife into death, I was angry that they only had to outlive one of their children, and I was angry that my wife and friends and brothers-in-law only had to live without Molly and Arthur for 30 years, 40 years at most. I was angry that my time with my wife and friends and children was growing ever shorter. I was angry that I looked young enough to be my own grandchild and I was angry that one day soon I would be alone again.

Everyone knew by now, of course. It was hard to hide the fact that you weren't aging when you were 70 years old and you didn't look a day over 30. The public went crazy when the Daily Prophet published a photo of Ginny kissing and holding hands with her son. The frenzy became even more intolerable when it was revealed that no, Ginny was not having an affair with her son, yes, that was me in the photo, and surprise, I am immortal. I don't go out in public very often anymore.

Other than dealing with the public, we tried to ignore it as best we could. Ginny acted like I couldn't be passed for her grandson and I acted like I was going to die right alongside my wife when the time came. It wasn't healthy, I knew that, and inside I was dying (if only) but what else was I supposed to do? Everyone else acted normal as well. Hermione and Ron never mentioned it, treating me instead like we were all growing old together, just like we had planned in the weeks after I finally defeated Voldemort. I complained about the aches of growing older alongside them and they laughed knowingly, tears of pain rather than mirth in their eyes. It wasn't perfect and I woke up terrified every day of what was going to happen to me, but I, and the people around me, understood that it was better not to talk about it, not to remind, to give me wonderful, happy memories I could hold onto for the rest of… well, I tried not to think about that.

_(2085, Harry is 105, Ginny is 104)_

The day Ron died, I died too, in the only way I could. They say time heals grief, but I don't think I'll ever come out of mourning for my best friend, my first friend. Ron was everything to me, and now, well.

He was the first person to ever accept me, to give me a real family and home. He made my life fun for the first time and made sure it was fun the rest of the way through. And now he's gone. I don't know how to erase this pain in my chest.

Ron tried to hold on as long as he could, tried to make his life last that much longer, and tried to delay my grief for a little while longer. In the end, it wasn't enough. Ron was old and death eventually claimed him.

I don't think Hermione cried for Ron. When her husband was pronounced dead, Hermione looked at me and wept. She tried to hold it in, tried not to show me everything she was feeling, but I knew. We had been best friends for years, and Hermione had always been a rubbish liar. She felt guilty. She was not sad that her husband was dead, she felt guilty that she was able to die, to follow her husband in death. She felt guilty that soon she would rejoin her husband and all I would be able to do was watch and lose my greatest friends. Ron and Hermione were the first people to ever love me, and Hermione knew that, and she felt guilty.

Hermione died 3 days later. No one was surprised. No one cried more than me.

Hermione and Ron said they would never leave my side, said they would always be there with me. Throughout life they left sometimes after a fight or disagreement, and sometimes I was the one who left, and it always hurt, but we always, always found our way back to each other. This time they weren't coming back. This time hurt the worst. No one cried more than me.

_(2086, Harry is 106)_

I didn't think it was possible to be in more pain than I already was. Then Ginny died. That's all I have to say about that.

_(2114, Harry is 134)_

Lily is the last of my children to die. When Ginny died, I tried to shut everyone out, but my children would have none of that. They let me have a couple days to myself, but after that they dragged me out of my home, their childhood home and made me move in with them. We were almost a normal family, having picnics and Sunday lunches. They gave me 28 more years of beautiful memories to hold inside my ever beating heart. I miss my children.

_(3000)_

Time blends together. I can no longer tell the difference between days and weeks and years. It's all so meaningless to me. What is one day when you live forever? The pain has never receded, but I live around the pain. I tried my best to give something to the world rather than sitting around, dwelling on what I lost all that time ago. I have taken many different jobs over the years, becoming skilled in every possible thing I could imagine. I have become very good at disguises.

I am sad and tired, oh so tired, but I continue on.

_(4614)_

I watched my story become history. History became legend. Legend became myth. For two and a half thousand years I watched my name being taught to the children of each new generation, watched myself become just another name in history textbooks, and watched myself become of symbol of peace between muggles and wizards, a symbol of love. I watched it all, and would watch it for eternity.

I would, forever, be The Boy Who Lived.

**NOTES:**

Thank you for reading, please tell me what you think! I got the idea for this when I saw this picture (add in the dots and hyphens and put http in front.)

: / / i0 dot wp dot com/www dot geeksaresexy dot net/wp hyphen content/uploads/2013/03/Harry hyphen Potter hyphen plot hyphen twist dot jpg?resize=600%2C4334


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